


Chain of Command

by feraldanvers



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Femdom, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Pegging, Under-negotiated Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:08:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feraldanvers/pseuds/feraldanvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a little inconvenient finding out how much he likes Jemma bossing him around when they're in the middle of an assignment, but Antoine doesn't consider that he might not be the only one who made a discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chain of Command

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PhoenixFalls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixFalls/gifts).



"Is this a prank?" Jemma asks, a little wildly. "I think I've been on the team a bit too long for hazing to be appropriate—not that it ever is," she adds hastily. "Are they hazing _you_?"

Antoine sighs as quietly as he can. "Nobody's getting hazed, Simmons," he murmurs. "I think the lead was just bad. We can take off whenever you're ready."

"I suppose," she says, shifting her legs until her thigh is pressed firmly against his shoulder where he's sitting at her feet. "I'm finishing my drink, regardless."

He watches her sip at her daiquiri—virgin, since they’re working, but she doesn’t seem to mind—before turning back to the floor show. This club caters to a specific niche of the kink community, and he'd be lying if he said that watching the woman on stage vigorously spanking her male sub wasn't getting him going a little. It had been easy to slip into the role with Jemma, following her into the room and deferring to her. She'd gotten flustered and apologetic enough when he tried to kneel at her feet that he'd rearranged himself into an easy slouch with his knees tucked up underneath him, but... it's nice.

It's not as though their sex life needs spicing up at this point, less than six months in. Jemma's far more confident than he would have guessed before they got together, and it helps that she approaches everything new with a scientist's enthusiasm, but he has to admit that being curled up at her feet like this scratches an itch he hadn't even noticed.

"I'm ready to go," Jemma says about ten minutes later, standing abruptly. Her voice is a little hoarse. "Up, love. That's a good boy."

Antoine's cheeks flush at the praise as he trails after her. He knows she's only playing the part—no need to blow their cover on the off chance they have to come back—but it sounds just genuine enough that he's struggling to will down his half-hard dick.

They leave the main room, passing a display of impressive toys on the wall, and Jemma stops short. "What do you reckon this is for?" she asks, turning back to him with a quiet laugh. "Are you supposed to use both at once?" She's gesturing toward a strap-on, and Antoine looks at it before staring at her. They're alone for the moment.

"It's not for me," he says uncertainly, glancing behind him before meeting her eyes again. "I mean, it is, I guess. But I'm not the one who wears it."

Jemma furrows her brow then glances back at the strap-on, and her eyes go wide. "Oh," she says faintly. "Obviously." Someone chooses that moment to turn the corner, and Jemma’s face goes immediately impassive. "Come along," she says, "You can choose something new next time, if you promise to behave."

"Yes, ma’am," Antoine says, throat dry, and she gives him a little half-smile over her shoulder before leading him out to the street.

\---

Jemma’s been acting strange since that bust of an undercover mission at the club, and Antoine would be lying if he said it didn't have him nervous. The thing is, Melinda had coached Jemma before they’d gone in, but she’d done _way_ too good a job of it, because he has the growing feeling that he embarrassed himself.

It’s not unusual for Jemma to get distracted, or to get lost in her own head, but the day he catches her staring thoughtfully into the middle distance while he’s got his head between her legs, he figures it’s the beginning of the end.

"Have you seen my pants?" he asks one Saturday, during a rare weekend off that he’d hoped they'd spend in bed together, back before before Jemma started getting so distant. Now, he thinks he might as well get his laundry together and spend some time at his own neglected apartment.

"You’re wearing them," she tells him seriously, squinting over the rim of her coffee mug.

"Thanks a lot, Simmons. But I _do_ own more than one pair, you know." He wanders into the bedroom, checking the hamper and behind the chair before dropping down to look under the bed.

"I might have washed them," Jemma calls after him, but they're right there behind the dust ruffle. Antoine starts to call back that he's already found them, but then he spots the box. It’s a package so nondescript that it immediately inspires suspicion, even if he didn’t already know how averse Jemma was to clutter. It's the only thing under there besides a few neatly arranged plastic tubs that appear to hold extra linens.

There are two parts of Antoine that have been at odds with each other more than once in the past: the part that respects the privacy of his romantic partners, and the part that works for a government agency steeped in paranoia. Usually the first part wins out, beyond the occasional background check, but today he’s sliding the box out and unfolding the flaps before he can stop himself.

"…Oh," he says dumbly.

" _Oh_ ," Jemma says from the doorway. "Please don’t freak out, I wasn’t going to do anything with it, I just got curious." She sounds panicked. "It’s not a big deal, I promise. Let’s just forget you ever saw it, shall we?"

Antoine reaches into the box and pulls out the harness, raising an eyebrow at the dark blue dildo that’s fitted into it. He glances at Jemma, who has both hands over her eyes and is quickly turning fuchsia, back at the strap-on, and then back to her.

"You know I love you, right?" Jemma nods weakly. "But you’ve been holding out on me," he says finally, fighting down a smirk when she drops her hands and stares at him. "Is this why you’ve been acting so weird lately?"

"I haven’t been…" She pauses. "Well, yes, I suppose so."

He takes the unopened bottle of lube from the box and drops it and the harness on the bed before stepping up to her. "Is this what you’ve been thinking about when we’re fucking?" he murmurs, bending down to brush his lips over her neck. She sucks in a breath, and he can already feel himself getting hard.

"Sometimes," she admits quietly. "You’re not upset?"

"Jemma." He pulls back and looks her in the eye. "Not even close. You don’t have to keep this kind of thing a secret."

"It’s just, in that club." She reaches out, tucking her fingers into his waistband and teasing at the skin there with her nails. "I sort of liked it, being in charge."

"I liked it too," he tells her seriously, leaning in to kiss her. "Have you been doing research, Jem?"

"Yes," she whispers.

"You gonna take care of me?"

"I’ll—" She swallows. "I’ll certainly try."

"Works for me," he says, grinning like maybe if he plays it cool enough, she won’t realize how bad he wants it. "Where do you want me?"

She looks at him for a long moment before nodding decisively. "On the bed," she says. "Clothes off."

"Yes, ma’am." He makes it just cheeky enough that they could easily laugh it off, but the corner of her mouth ticks up just enough to let him know that he's been caught. He lets her unbutton his pants before she withdraws her hand entirely, and then he strips his shirt off, chest warming at the appreciative once-over he gets. "Have you tried it on?" he asks as he shucks his pants and boxers, giving her a quick look up through his eyelashes, testing the waters.

"I have," she tells him calmly. "I suppose you want to know how it looks?" He nods. "Then you’d better get on the bed, or you'll never find out."

He fumbles tugging his socks off, but then he’s stumbling backwards and flopping on the bed.

She strips her clothes off with agonizing slowness—not a striptease, just incredibly deliberate—and even though she’s just wearing the worn pajamas she slept in, the way she doesn’t even look at him has his dick thickening up in a hurry. When she picks up the harness and starts putting it on, her movements are so practiced and sure that he has to squeeze his eyes shut for a minute. He can picture it so easily, Jemma doing up those straps over and over, when she’s home alone, when he’s in the kitchen making breakfast, whenever she gets the chance.

He pictures her standing in front of the mirror, stroking herself, and his eyes slide back open with a groan. She looks just as good as he pictured, standing over him, and any uncertainty he might have expected her to be feeling doesn’t show on her face.

"You’re gorgeous," he tells her, and a pleased smile sneaks across her face. "What can I do?"

"Stay right there." Jemma climbs onto the bed, the dildo bobbing between her thighs in a way that might have looked silly if he didn’t feel like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. When she crawls up to straddle his chest, taking herself in hand and dragging the deep blue head across his bottom lip, Antoine lets his mouth fall open for it. A pleased noise works its way out of his throat as she pushes into his mouth, hips rocking gently. "Oh, you’re good at that," she breathes, her free hand coming down to stroke at his jaw. "I should have guessed."

"Mmm." He tilts his neck a little, letting her slide in further, and Jemma gasps. She rocks in further and further until she's nudging at his throat, and he slips his hands up to skim them over the soft flesh of her thighs. When he tries to pull her in further, she makes a scolding noise, and he drops his hands back to the bed.

"Your mouth will be the death of me," she says, smirking a little at the noise he makes when she pulls away. "I’m not nearly finished with you. Be patient." Then she’s shuffling further up the bed, and he’s faced with the sight of leather against her pale thighs, her cunt framed in by the straps but exposed.

"Wow," he breathes, licking his lips.

"Yeah?" She twists her body to meet his eyes, something pleased and shy flitting across her face before it’s gone. "Let’s see what you can do, then." When she lowers herself onto him, he licks at her hungrily, a thrill going through him at the way she’s already dripping for it. He teases for a bit, brushing her clit with his tongue in a way that could be accidental, but she gets impatient quickly. When she groans and pushes down further, grinding into his mouth, his whole body shudders.

There’s not much he can do but try to keep up with her, kissing and sucking at her when she eases back, moaning against her skin when she grinds down. It’s beyond perfect, and he reaches down to wrap a hand around himself, just to ease the pressure of his blinding arousal.

When the wet heat disappears, he blinks up at her.

"Did I tell you to touch yourself?" she asks crisply, eyes sharp.

"No… no, ma’am." It comes out like a croak, half-embarrassed.

"Turn over," she orders, "and if you touch yourself again before I’ve told you to, we’ll be finished. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma’am," he says, and it slips out easier this time. He turns onto his stomach, getting his knees up under himself just enough to push his ass out in a way he hopes she’ll like.

"Well done," she says. "Now, well. Do we need a special safe word?" He doesn’t answer; it seems like she’s mostly asking herself. "If you say to stop, I’ll stop. If you need to, though, will you say ‘red’?""

He nods, head hanging down between his shoulders. "I will," he promises, then: "Green."

"All right, then. Thank you, love." He feels a blush all the way down to his chest, and his pride is grateful that she can't see. He tenses up when he hears her opening the lube, but she just runs a comforting hand down his spine. When her wet fingers brush over his hole, he shudders out the lungful of air he'd been holding in and pushes back onto her fingers.

She makes that scolding noise again, just a warning, but she undercuts it by pressing one finger inside, straight to the first knuckle with no hesitation.

"Shit," he breathes. It's been a while, but it already feels better than he had remembered.

"That's it," Jemma says, working her way deeper until he can feel the knuckles of her other fingers pressing flush against his ass. "You look lovely," she tells him fondly. "I had no idea you'd take it so well."

It's half praise, half clinical observation, and coming from her the combination is enough to have Antoine letting out a soft whine. "More," he asks roughly. "Please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely." There's a smile in her voice, and he presses his own into the pillow as she pulls her finger out and slides back in with two. "I wonder..." She makes a considering noise, twisting her fingers and dragging them right over his prostate.

" _Ah,_ " Antoine cries out. His full body shudder must be what she was looking for, because she rocks her fingertips over that spot again and again until his hips start pumping back involuntarily. The click of the lube is followed by her third finger slipping in along the first two, and she starts really fucking them in and out then, pulling them nearly free before pushing back in with force.

"Does that feel nice, love?" she asks breathlessly, and he nods against the pillow.

"Yes," he grunts, eyes fluttering open as she stills her fingers inside of him. "Yes, ma'am," he corrects quickly.

"Good boy," she says, stroking down his she with her free hand, and then she's fucking back in with four delicate fingers. It would be so easy for her to press her whole hand inside, he thinks, and the idea of her fucking him with her fist has his orgasm rushing up.

"Gonna…" he starts to say, feeling half-panicked, and Jemma stops immediately. The loss of stimulation as she pulls her fingers out is a relief, even though he feels like he might lose his mind without her.

"You won't," she tells him firmly, guiding him over to lie on his back, and she sounds so sure that the feeling recedes some. "I'm going to let you," she promises, "very soon. But not until I'm inside you, do you understand?" He nods. "Antoine, love, I need to hear you."

"Green," he says hoarsely, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to get himself under control.

"Thank you," she says, painfully sincere, and he lets her move him around until she's got a pillow wedged up under his hips. When she lifts his right leg over her shoulder, shifting to straddle his left, his dick pulses out another thick drop of pre-come. He swallows, meeting her eyes as she smirks down at him. It's teasing, but her eyes are nothing but fond.

"I love you," he murmurs, and her smirk widens into a grin. 

"I know," she says cheekily, slicking herself with her fingers and nudging up against him. "Now, relax. I'll take good care of you, I promise."

"Please," he asks, and she doesn't make him wait, pressing forward slow and steady until she's seated inside him, filling him up. It’s almost unbearably good, the way he can feel it in the base of his spine, and he rolls his hips a little as he tries to adjust.

"Feel all right?" Jemma’s brow is furrowed a little in concern, so he lets a lazy smile spread across his face.

"Better than," he says. "Like, neon green."

"Good," she says, easing most of the way out and then rolling back in with a shallow thrust. "You can come whenever you like, okay?"

"Yes, ma’am."

That earns him a rougher thrust, her hips stuttering when she’s all the way in as she grinds herself against the base of the dildo. She lets out this little shocked breath and does it again, and Antoine would spread his legs further if she didn’t already have them arranged just so. She wraps one small hand tightly around his knee as she pushes in again, working up a steady rhythm as she fucks into him and uses the friction to get herself off.

Every time she presses in, she makes these little sounds, and it makes him want to put a hand on himself but he doesn’t have her permission. " _Unh_ ," Jemma gasps, "oh, _oh_ ," and she’s fucking in harder, tilting her hips up to grind right over his prostate. "You’ve done so well," she breathes, slipping her hand down to rub gently over his aching, neglected cock, just enough pressure to bring his roiling arousal right up to the edge. "Look at you, you’re so perfect like this, my perfect boy."

Her words hit him right in the gut, and he cries out, hips twitching up into her thrusts as he shoots his load all over her hand and his stomach.

"So good," she says, thrusts slowing down until she’s barely moving, just grinding into him in mindless pursuit of her own orgasm. She reaches up to press her come-coated fingers to his lips, nearly folding him in half to do it, and he sucks them in greedily, swiping his tongue between them. " _Oh_ ," she moans, "Antoine, I’m…"

He feels the slick heat of her cunt dragging at his thigh as she shudders through her orgasm, and his cock gives a desperate, defeated twitch. She turns her head, panting wetly against his calf where it’s still propped up on her shoulder. When she eases his leg back down to the bed, she rubs gently at his hip with shaking hands.

"Jem, that was…" He shuts his eyes, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"It was," she agrees, leaning down to kiss him, open-mouthed and gentle. "Now, stay put. I’ve made a mess of you."

He waits patiently, feeling vaguely like he’s floating despite the grounding ache in his ass. Jemma comes back from wherever she’d gone with a damp washcloth, cleaning his ass and thighs before wiping up the mess on his stomach.

"’s nice," he murmurs. "Thank you."

"Not at all," she says, disappearing for another moment. He hears the _snick_ of the blinds, the room getting a little darker before she comes back to settle next to him in the bed. She tugs the blanket up before pulling Antoine in to curl against her chest, head resting between her small breasts. He drags his beard lightly against her skin, grinning when she starts giggling and pushes him back.

"So, we’re doing that again, right?" He slips a hand down to her hip, thumb dragging over the slight indentations the straps had left on her skin.

"We’re doing that again," she confirms, dragging her fingers up to play at the nape of his neck.

"But sleep first," he says, his eyes sliding shut.

"Sleep first," she agrees, pressing a kiss to his temple before he drifts off.


End file.
